


The Last Act of the Berkshires

by Loremaiden



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Community: watsons_woes, Dreams and Nightmares, Gen, Maiwand, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 15:56:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4441997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loremaiden/pseuds/Loremaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Friends never stop helping each other out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Act of the Berkshires

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to JWP 2015 #27 (Aside From Yourself, I Have None) on Watson's Woes. 
> 
> "Aside from yourself, I have none." Sherlock Holmes is supposed to be the anti-social one with Watson as his only friend. But who are Watson's friends outside of Sherlock Holmes?

Six years have passed, and Watson is still having this nightmare.

He's playing a friendly game of poker with his old regiment. The men are in high spirits, enjoying their winnings and laughing off their losses, safe in the tent with not a care in the world. He joins in their banter and heartily chuckles when they point out his many tells. He is happy to be among good friends again.

But that blissful feeling won't last. It never does.

Time is moving faster. The sun rises and sets, over and over in quick succession. The others keep playing and don't notice anything amiss. Watson's heart starts pounding as he tries to tell his mates that the sun has risen twenty-seven times, today's the day the Ghazis come, they all have to get out _now_ \--

His dream self knows what will come next. He's lost count of how many times he's seen this horror play out. They will ignore him and his desperate warnings, they will play hand after hand until the tent is peppered with bullets and the sand is soaking up their blood, pouring through his bandages like they weren't even there, it will be the same damn dream and he knows this, _please_ , why does he have to endure this _again_?

But it's...different this time.

Instead of taking no notice of Watson's pleas, the entire regiment stops the game. They rise to their feet as one, and gently herd him in formation to the open tent flap.

"Go on, Johnny. You've patched us up enough; high time we return the favor. Time for you to decamp. Don't you worry about us, the Lion will keep us safe. Just follow the music and you'll find your way back to London. We paid the violinist well, so he'll play as long as it takes for you to make it home."

Watson awakes, tears running down his face from relief this time, not fear and sorrow.

He never has the nightmare again.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 135th anniversary of the Battle of Maiwand, July 27 1880. The "Lion" mentioned in the piece is the Maiwand Lion memorial in Forbury Gardens, erected in 1886.


End file.
